“Gilbert?” Karp said.
“Yes, Gilbert,” she replied, “my knight in shining armor who you should show your appreciation for a lot more than you do. I tried to make it up to him last night, but the occasional word of thanks from you would go a long way, too. Isn’t that right snookums?”
“Well, I…,” Murrow blushed again, finding something even more interesting on the floor. “Maybe I don’t do all that much.”
“Snookums?” Karp gasped. “I think I’m going to lose my breakfast.”
“Now wait just a minute, Butch,” Murrow protested in a rather high, squeaky voice. “You said to do what ever it took to keep her out of your hair, And besides, whatever I do in my free time is my affair. So if Ms. Stupenagel…aka Honey Buns…and I want to engage in mutual congress of a sexual nature, then that is entirely my business.”
“God, I love it when he talks like that,” Stupenagel sighed. “But speaking of business, I have a story to write…so what have you got to tell me.”
Karp and Stupenagel haggled over some of the guidelines but soon had a deal in place. Then he instructed Murrow to come up with a short press release to feed to the vultures essentially stating that there had indeed been a shooting in Central Park the night before and that there were several fatalities. “Names withheld pending notification of next of kin…. There were also two arrests with more pending.”
As soon as he’d approved Murrow’s press release, Karp left for the hospital for the rest of the day, holding Marlene’s hand and comforting his other two children as they waited. Finally, Dr. Zacham had emerged and held up a tiny dot, the shotgun pellet. “I give you this to hold on to for him. But everything went perfectly. Now we shall see if it has any effect.”
The family again spent most of the day, Saturday, at the hospital trying to entertain Giancarlo. Same thing Sunday, except a break Karp took in the afternoon when he’d met at his office with Guma, Newbury, and Terrell Collins representing his office, and Denton and McIntyre from the NYPD.
• • •
Then on Monday morning, he’d called the offices of the New York Archdiocese and requested a meeting with Archbishop Fey. “And please, ask him to have his legal counsel, Mr. Kane, present.”
He’d arrived at the archdiocese offices and was escorted into a large meeting room where he was left to contemplate stained-glass windows depicting a bunch of bearded men in colorful robes mounted around the skylight. After several minutes, Fey walked in, followed by Kane. The two men sat on the opposite side of the table from him.
“So what can we do for you, Mr. Karp?” Kane began the conversation.
“I thought the question at this point would have been more along the lines of what I can do for you,” Karp replied.
The tension visibly flowed out of Kane. He looked at Fey, who smiled weakly, and said, “See, I knew Butch…may I call you, Butch?…was a reasonable man.” He turned back to Karp, “Yes, you’re quite right, what can you do for us? I hope you realize that whole…ummm…misunderstanding the other night was not authorized. I’m afraid the archbishop’s secretary, Father O’Callahan, may God have mercy on his soul, overstepped his authority.”
“What about Flanagan, Leary, and the others?”
Kane held his hands apart as if to say it had been beyond his control. “They followed O’Callahan’s orders, I’m afraid. We—the archbishop and I—of course, had no idea that he’d be taking this all so seriously. Born, I’m sure, of his desire to protect the church from old news.”
“Old news?” Karp asked.
“Yes, the No Prosecution files,” Kane said. “Old news…everybody’s happy.”
“Really? I wonder. Have you spoken to Bernard Little lately?” Karp asked.
“Who?”
“Didn’t think so. You don’t even remember how you tried to pay him and his wife to forget that Flanagan murdered their son.”
Kane waved his hand. “Oh that. Let’s be honest, one less nigger hasn’t been noticed. Why ruin a cop’s career over a single trigger-happy incident.”
“And what about Francisco Apodaca? He didn’t have anything to do with any of this.”
“An accident. Again, without getting clearance from anybody, O’Callahan and Flanagan on their own decided that you needed to be out of the picture,” Kane said. Then he laughed. “But it seems that O’Callahan and several of his men are dead, and Mr. Flanagan seems to have disappeared. So that should make you about even.”
Karp looked at Kane for a long minute, fighting the urge to reach across the table and break the man’s neck. “So I guess we just forget all this…old news,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “A little corruption is the price we pay to keep the barbarians from the gates and ourselves in power, right?”
Kane smiled. “I knew you would understand. We let this blow over and then I’ll be mayor and you’ll be the district attorney and between the two of us, we’ll run this city for the next forty years. So we have a deal? Let me write a check—a campaign contribution—to seal it,” he said, pulling a checkbook from his suit pocket. “I’ll fill in the zeroes, you put the number you want in front of it…say up to nine?” He scribbled on the check and slid it across the table.
Six zeroes, Karp thought, up to nine million dollars. He nodded. “Yes, we have a deal. But it might not be the same deal you’re talking about. Let me know what you think.”
He turned to the archbishop. “I have to say that you are the biggest disappointment in all of this. I expect vermin like your boss here to think that corruption and lies and abuse of power are all just part of doing business. But you, you were given the most precious thing people have—their trust and faith, their hope for something better, if not in this life, then the next. But you took that and ground it into the dust with such a reckless disregard for the lives of the people who counted on you that it makes me sick. In fact, to quote one wise man I met recently, it was a motherfucking ferocious disregard.”
Fey never let his gaze leave the table in front of him. “I had no idea things had degenerated this far,” he said weakly.
“But you knew something wasn’t right,” Karp replied. “You knew about the payoffs.”
“It seemed such a small thing—the victims got money, the priests got psychiatric help, the church was safe,” Fey replied. “Only later did he tell me about Lichner and those poor children.” The old man began to weep. “I should have said something then…but the church…”
Karp looked up at the saints on the ceiling. He wondered if there were people like that anymore. Lucy maybe. “You knew that once you crossed the line, there was no way back. But yes, when he told you that, you should have said something.”
Fey wiped at his tears and nodded. “I know it was wrong, and I expect to pay for it in this life and the next,” he said. “I don’t want any deals. In fact, if you need me to make a statement, I waive my right to remain silent and to have counsel present. Mr. Kane no longer represents me.”
Kane, who had been looking from one to the other, slammed his hand on the table. “Shut the fuck up. What in the hell are you talking about? Karp understands how the world works. Now, do we have a deal or not?”
Karp gave Kane his famous glare. “Okay, here’s the deal. The deal is the archbishop can plead guilty to manslaughter. He engaged in a conscious disregard of the grave risks of abusive and homicidal conduct that Lichner and others meted out. If he wants to make a statement regarding his knowledge of other criminal activities or accomplices, such as you, I’m sure the court will take that into consideration at sentencing.”
Kane’s eyes bugged out of his head. “What in the hell do you mean at sentencing? You can’t arrest the Archbishop of New York.”
“You’re not listening,” Karp continued. “You asked me what the deal was and I’m telling you. Your deal is you can plead guilty only to the top count, capital murder, or you can go to trial. Either way, you’re going to rot in hell. There, that’s the deal. Any questions?”
Karp shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and grinned, then pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. “Thanks that will help in court,” he said clicking it twice.
Immediately, McIntyre and several other detectives from the DA’s squad burst into the room. As they handcuffed Kane and Fey, Karp couldn’t help but toss in another jab. “I’ll think about what you just said while I’m sleeping in my bed tonight, Kane. I hope you enjoy your cot…especially when they turn out the lights, and the screaming starts.” He looked at McIntyre. “Get these bastards out of my sight.”
• • •
That evening he held a joint press conference with Denton, who announced the arrests of Archbishop Timothy Fey and attorney Andrew Kane for homicide “and a variety of other charges yet to be determined.” Karp had said only that the cases would be taken before a grand jury. “Otherwise, I am not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation at this time.” The two men then stepped down from the podium as all hell broke loose, leaving Murrow to answer questions as obliquely as possible.
Returning to his office, Karp found Stupenagel sitting on the couch. The day after the shootings when they made their deal, he’d told her that he couldn’t give her an exclusive on the arrests. “The rest of the media would never forgive me,” he said, “and while I could live with that, it wouldn’t be fair either and smack too much of favoritism.” He had agreed—mostly because he needed the time anyway—to delay the announcement until Monday evening so that her story in the Village Voice would appear at the same time the other newspapers ran theirs. And because she had more detail, including references to the clergy No Prosecution cases, she said, “My story will be better anyway. They’ll be chasing my tail for a week.”
“You do realize that you may have torpedoed your chances at getting elected,” she said as he sat with his elbows on his desk and his face in his hands. “Andrew Kane still has a lot of connections and a lot of money. Then there’s the Catholic reaction to this story; they’ll blame the church, but they may also blame you for bursting their little bubbles of faith. Now if I understand you, Fey intends to be a witness for the prosecution and tell everything he knows, which will help.”
Stupenagel stood and crossed over to the desk where she bent over and kissed him on top of the head. He looked up with a weak smile and asked, “What was that for?”
“Well, I should say something smart-alecky like thanks for hooking me up with Murrow. Believe it or not, I may be in love, though at the moment I am settling for lust,” she said. “But that wouldn’t be why I kissed you. I guess I’m just saying thanks from all of us nobodies out here for showing us that there are still knights in the world willing to joust with windmills.”
“Why, Stupe,” he said gently, “you’re not getting all sentimental on me in your old age?”
“Nah,” she said. “I’ll be watching, and if you fuck up, I’ll write a story every bit as scathing as this one is laudatory.”
“Now, that’s the Stupe I love,” he laughed.
• • •
At Zak’s football game several months later, Karp smiled at the memory. So far he’d done pretty well with the windmills.
Bernard Little and his wife had attended every calendar appearance in the Flanagan case. They were sitting in the back of the courtroom when the court set a firm trial date and Karp informed the court that the People would accept no lesser plea than capital murder for the death of Jumain Little.
“I ’spose you think I should thank you for doing your job,” Bernard Little said afterward.
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Little,” Karp replied. “I’m just sorry that it took this long.”
Little started to say something but tears came to his eyes and he choked up. It was his wife who reached forward and touched Karp on the arm. “He does want to thank you,” she said. “We want to thank you. The words are just a little tough right now. We miss our boy.” Karp looked back to Bernard, who nodded his head and stuck out his hand.
Kane was, of course, fighting the charges tooth and nail. But he’d already been handed a series of setbacks. First, he was remanded without bail. The big blow was when the judge announced that he was denying defense motions to quash Flanagan’s tape-recorded messages, as well as the testimony of Fey (based on attorney-client privilege). The writing was on the wall for Kane to see. All of his supposed friends and political allies had long since abandoned him and were now talking to the press about how they’d always suspected “something wasn’t quite right with that guy.” He’d also been moved into protective custody after receiving several death threats from Catholic inmates at the Tombs.
As a sidebar to the indictments of Kane, Newbury and his merry band of sleuths had indicted a dozen police officers and twice that many clergy members from the No Prosecution files. Newbury also finally had the means to prove that Kane owned Pentagram records. “A little late,” he admitted. “But another piece of the puzzle that will show his connection to the ML Rex murders.”
Fulton had also come up with a couple more pieces. He’d shown up at the office one day on crutches and began by giving Karp a full dressing down for not keeping his bodyguard around at all times. But then he’d moved on to the real reason for his visit. His guys had gone through the limousine again and discovered a business card with Paglia’s fingerprints all over it. “The phone number on the back is to a cell phone registered to Michael Flanagan. The idiot was too stupid or lazy to use a second untraceable phone. We also did another search of the Paglia home and turned up a mug shot of Alejandro Garcia.”
Finally, Karp thought, this little theatrical production is moving to a conclusion I’m directing. And I now know my lines.
There was one last bit role that came to a conclusion when he and Guma made a big show of entering his outer office with a box of files and placing them on Mrs. Boccino’s desk. “Well, that’s about everything we got on Kane,” Guma said.
“Yeah,” Karp acknowledged. “We better lock it up in my office until we can move it someplace safe after the meeting this evening.”
“Good idea,” Guma said, and they’d carried the boxes into Karp’s office.
When they were out of the room, Mrs. Boccino carefully picked up her telephone and dialed a number she’d been given. “It’s me,” she said quietly, listening for the return of the two men. “Get word to him that someone needs to get down here in about an hour. I know where they’re keeping all the evidence on Andy…. Oh, and tell him that I love him and miss him and…”
“And isn’t that sweet,” Guma said from behind her, pressing a finger down on the receiver. “You really aren’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree are you, Mrs. Boccino. Not only do you turn down a night of heaven with yours truly, but you’re a dirtbag, too.” He picked up a pen he’d laid on her desk when he entered the office. “These really are amazing gadgets,” he said. “But I guess this means we won’t be on for tonight, unless it’s dinner in jail.”
“Bastard,” she said.
“Bitch,” he replied and stuck out his tongue.
• • •
“Defensive holding!” Giancarlo screamed as an incomplete pass left Zak’s team with one final fourth-down play between them and defeat. “Oh my God! Hey, I know a good seeing-eye dog for sale!”
Karp laughed and shook his head; his kids were something else. Tomorrow, he was going to need a little courage himself as he was going to officially announce his candidacy for New York district attorney. The good news was he’d received a call from Marlene in the morning, saying
she and Lucy were coming home in time for the press conference. “We just thought your whole family should be there.”
Lucy had gone with Marlene, saying she wanted to fulfill her obligation to Father Eduardo. However, he figured there was more to it than that, as she talked nightly to Ned Blanchet. Wonder if she’ll end up in a little house on the prairie, he thought, amused by his own joke.
The two women and Jojola also had been accompanied by a fourth person. They’d invited Alejandro Garcia to go with them to convalesce “out where the air is clean,” and he’d jumped at the chance. “Maybe I’ll get started on my book,” he said. “Though I’m thinking of going to college next year.”
“Yeah? What are you thinking about majoring in,” Karp asked.
“Prelaw. I think I might want to be a lawyer.”
“Great. We can always use a sharp mind in the DA’s office,” Karp said.
But Garcia shook his head. “Uh-uh, somebody’s got to keep the system honest,” he said. “I’ll be working for the other side. Maybe set up a practice in Spanish Harlem.”
Somebody’s got to keep the system honest. What a summer, Karp thought as Garcia’s words echoed in his mind. But whatever tomorrow brought, today he just wanted to watch his boy play football.
Zak had played his heart out, but it looked as if it was going to be for a losing cause. He hoped Zak wouldn’t take it too hard.
The night before Zak had admitted to a case of nerves. He was the best player on his team, and if they lost, he said, it would be his fault. Karp had thought about that and then gone to his closet where he dug out an old shoebox full of mementos. He’d found the fragile piece of folded paper and handed it to his son. “Read this,” he said. “Your grandmother gave this to me once when I was doubting myself. It’s not magic, but it helped.”
Zak read the flowing cursive carefully as Karp thought about how his mother’s death had affected him. When she first died, he’d felt sorry for himself. Why did she have to leave me? How am I ever going to make it? Then after a time, he’d stopped feeling sorry for himself and dwelled on the unfairness of it all for his mother. She was so young. Her whole life was ahead of her. But as he looked upon his son, he knew that the real shame of her death was that she never got to meet Marlene and his kids. You would have loved them all, Mom, and they would have adored you, as I did.
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